Isobars and Ions
by Alioth
Summary: More-than-one-shot. Scott is searching for a young mutant, Jean keeps having strange dreams involving doors, the Professor is strangely silent, Logan wonders about...stuff.
1. How far

Author's Note/Disclaimer: I do not own X-men, blah, blah, blah. Look, it's not a one-shot! Now, go and read.

Isobars and Ions

Chapter One: How far

A cloud drifted across the sky. His face illuminated only by the glowing end of his cigar, Logan stood watching the sky. No moon tonight—none that he could see, anyway. He exhaled, blowing smoke out the open window. Times like this he missed the road, missed the simplicity of his life before he'd gotten tangled up in this business of good and evil. Times like this—nights when he couldn't sleep, when four walls seemed like more of a cage than a room and he had to fling the windows open wide to the freezing air to get a breath—he missed not caring; not having anyone or anything to miss.

A rasp of paper on hardwood floor. Logan turned and padded over to the door, picking up the sheet torn off of someone's yellow legal pad. _Can't sleep. Meet me in the kitchen?_ No signature, not that one was needed. Logan stubbed out his cigar in an already-overflowing ashtray.

After all his brooding, the kitchen seemed inappropriately well-lit, but Logan forgave any emotional jarring at might have caused when Jean turned to smile tiredly at him. "I couldn't sleep." She leaned back against the counter, gripping a ceramic mug in both hands. "Tea?"

_Dammit Jean, I'm never going to get you drunk, am I? _"Sure. Thanks." He sipped, trying not to grimace—he hated chamomile—and propped himself against the kitchen table. "I never figured you for an insomniac."

Jean raised an eyebrow. "I never figured you for an expert on my sleeping habits." She shrugged. "It was just too quiet, and I was..."

"Lonely?" Now she looked down, and her cheeks colored in what would have in a less formidable woman been called a blush. She turned away, making a pretense of adding honey to her tea.

Logan set him mug on the table with the softest of "clink"s and walked gently towards her. She tensed when her kneaded her shoulders, then relaxed, leaning into the massage. He waited until her muscles were loose under his hands before speaking. "More nightmares?"

She stiffened. "Jeannie. Talk to me." She shrugged but didn't move away.

"It's always the same dream." She arched her back when he dug his thumbs into the muscle below her shoulderblades. "And I can never remember it—it seems important, and there's something about doors..." she shook her head. "I've been having it every night for a week and...and I don't like to go back to sleep. After."

A week. It had been a week—well, eight days—since Scott had been sent away on some mystery mission. Another one of the Professor's little secrets. Logan smiled and rested his hands on her shoulders, hesitating. "Y'know, if you just want comfort or conversation, the whole 'meet me in the kitchen' thing seems kinda elaborate," He leaned forward and kissed her neck, drinking in the smell and taste and feel of her, "when you know my door's always open," he breathed into her ear.

Jean turned to face him, resting a hand against his face. His stubble scraped lightly against her palm. "You know it's not that simple."

"Why not?" He leaned forward until only a few inches separated them. "Why can't it be that simple?"

Jean pulled away, shaking her head. She opened her mouth, about to speak, then closed it. She left the kitchen and its bright cheery lights at what would have in a less formidable woman been called a run.

Logan slumped against the table, taking a gulp of his already-cooling tea. Chamomile: He hated chamomile. "Fuck.."

_So close no matter how far_

_Couldn't be much more from the heart_

"Fuck," Scott Summers remarked conversationally to the world at large when he glanced at the gas gauge. Running on empty—was that the title of some country song? He thought it might be—in the middle of one of those empty stretches of mid-western highway. He'd meant to refill the tank when he reached Iowa, but something must have distracted him. _What_, he wondered, swinging his sunglass-covered vision across the empty highway, surrounded on all sides by boring, flat, brown grass, _could that possibly have been?_

A sign up ahead—Scott leaned forward, straining his vision. _Please, please, let me be lucky just this once..._there it was. Gas, food, motels—for the moment he was as content as a man who hadn't showered in forty-eight hours or eaten in eight could be. _Next time,_ he promised himself, _I'm taking the jet._

Author's note: More of a plot will follow...I swear...Okay, the random transition thing? That was part of the lyrics to Metallica's "Nothing else matters", from which the chapter title was derived. And my Logan/Jean one shot was titled "nothing else matters". Oh, I'm soo clever.

Oh, shut up. Go review.


	2. All these words

Author's Note: Well, well, well, look who updated? Okay, some stuff you should know that I didn't include in the first chapter: I've shamelessly combined comic book and movie elements in this story, (for example, I've stolen the movie's Wolverine and Logan/Jean connection, but I like comic-book Jean, and I plan to include—probably briefly, as I doubt my ability to write them convincingly—Beast, Remy and other non-movie people.), so don't be surprised if I've mutilated canon (just a little) for my own vile purposes. Thanks to my reviewers!

Chapter 2: All These Words

Scott was on the road again, although he'd never particularly liked the expression. "On the road" seemed to suggest being stranded in the middle of a three-lane highway with a truck bearing down on him, so he preferred to say that he was driving in a car again (although that didn't sound quite as good)—an increasingly dirty car, he observed, looking at the layer of fast food wrappings that the floor and seats had acquired and trying not to notice the rancid smell of slightly-unwashed male that had begun to permeate the air. He considered rolling down the window, but decided that his own sweat was better than exhaust fumes and hypothermia—he wondered if it had gotten cold at home to, slightly ashamed that he couldn't remember what the weather had been like when he left.

Not that it was his fault, of course. He'd been busy—dealing with adolescent mutants of various temperaments and abilities was not to be sneezed at—and it wasn't as if the Professor cut any of them—kids and teachers alike—any slack. Then, just when everything had been going so well (Bobby hardly ever froze entire corridors during his wet dreams anymore; Rachel was usually able to keep all of her limbs in proportion during class; Remy had stopped activating the kinetic energy of tennis balls and turning gym into a danger room-type activity), the Professor had decided to send him on a _mission._ Alone. In the middle of nowhere.

Scott tried to recall the Professors exact phrasing, but only his sarcastic reply came to mind. _"So I have to go find a kid in a town I've never heard of, convince her to come to with a man she's never met, to a school she's never heard of full of people she's probably scared of, and then go 'investigate' some 'suspicious activity' in_ _Oregon? Want me to single-handedly take on Magneto and the Brotherhood too?"_

"_No thank you, Scott. The girl and the investigation will be quite enough."_

Scott muttered vengefully to himself. _Why me? _Storm would have been the sensible choice for the job—she was tactful and personable; people trusted her instantly. Jean could have tracked the girl down and convinced her to leave with telepathy; even Beast would have been better for the job...the only person less suited for the job was Logan. He'd probably come in with his claws out, disembowel anyone who got in his way, seduce the kid's mother...Scott tried hard not to think of who Logan was more likely to be seducing, making himself keep thinking about people who should have been in this cramped and distinctly smelly car instead of Scott Summers. Hell, Xavier himself could have whirred halfway across the country in his very hi-tech wheelchair...the image of the Professor wheeling sedately down the highway made Scott smirk. _Yeah...now that's an idea..._

_never opened myself this way  
life is ours, we live it our way  
all these words I don't just say_

Charles Xavier was indeed wheeling sedately, although not along the interstate. He smiled politely at the students he passed (they looked vaguely nervous, and had he had more time he would have probed to find out exactly what it was they didn't want him to know.), passing through the door that opened on its own into Dr. Grey's office.

Jean looked up with a wary expression identical to those of the students. "Professor, you didn't have to come all the way down here—you just could have called."

"Perhaps. But I find that face-to-face interactions are...rather more polite, don't you?" He didn't wait for a reply. "Jean, you've taken over my executive duties at the school without a hitch. As a result, I don't think that my leaving will cause too much of a stir. Just carry on as you have." He turned and headed toward the door, which opened itself obligingly...

...only to shut again, politely but firmly "Leaving? For how long?"

"Oh, a few weeks. I'm afraid you won't be able to contact me, so I'm leaving you, Ororo and Henry in full control of, well, everything. And Scott, should he return before I do—I expect that he will, as a matter of fact. And Jean," he turned the wheelchair around to look her in the eye "trust Logan. Accept what he has to offer."

That floored her completely, giving the Professor time to make good his escape. _Professor, what..._but he had completely shut his mind to her. Jean slammed the folder on her desk shut and walked briskly to the door. Wrenching it open, she power walked down the hall, scattering the lingering pupils who knew better than to get in Professor Grey's way when she had that expression. "Ororo? Henry? We need to talk..."

Author's note: Okay, so that was kinda slow and boring, but I had to do some filler on Scott's mission, and, hey, if you want me to update within a reasonable amount of time you can't expect, brilliance, right? Kidding...kinda. Quite frankly I don't know where the Professor leaving bit came from...it just...happened. I didn't want to have another Jean/Logan scene—fun as they are to write, I think they can get old and stale (but still oh-so-cute) fast. More interesting stuff later, I promise. Just wait for the next chapter (oh shit, I'll have to figure out what's gonna happen next, won't I? Damn.)


End file.
